I trudge; heavy, eroded
Depleted, i collapse in your lap.
My universe is spasming,
but my screams are muted.
My universe is saturated,
but my spirit is empty.
Your Sister wraps me
her embrace ever so tender,
Your Mother cradles me
leaving nothing to render.
Your warm Hearth,
thaws the winter in me.
Your vibrant Children
infuse deep their glee.
Ever so often
i come to your shrine,
bereft of any token.
Ever so often
i deposit my fears,
my grace, my mojo - woken.
These lines stem out of my immense, bottomless love for Nature and in this case, for its soldiers, the Trees. I happened to visit Cubbon Park, which lies in the heart of Bangalore. Each tree was like a painting, poetry frozen in forms so graceful, so stunning, so moving. Trees are considered sacred and still worshiped in parts across the globe. Their groves are our oldest temples. They hold within themselves eons old wisdom. The stories of Tree Spirits (a type nature spirit) are all too familiar for any of us who've read fantasy. I don't think it's fantasy, i believe they exist. An ethereal existence visible only to the intangible senses. Trees are my nameless friends; best part - they can't escape me no matter what crap i share with 'em. Hehe!
"If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen." So resounded Henry David Thoreau. Aye, couldn't get closer to truth.
Depleted, i collapse in your lap.
My universe is spasming,
but my screams are muted.
My universe is saturated,
but my spirit is empty.
Your Sister wraps me
her embrace ever so tender,
Your Mother cradles me
leaving nothing to render.
Your warm Hearth,
thaws the winter in me.
Your vibrant Children
infuse deep their glee.
Ever so often
i come to your shrine,
bereft of any token.
Ever so often
i deposit my fears,
my grace, my mojo - woken.
These lines stem out of my immense, bottomless love for Nature and in this case, for its soldiers, the Trees. I happened to visit Cubbon Park, which lies in the heart of Bangalore. Each tree was like a painting, poetry frozen in forms so graceful, so stunning, so moving. Trees are considered sacred and still worshiped in parts across the globe. Their groves are our oldest temples. They hold within themselves eons old wisdom. The stories of Tree Spirits (a type nature spirit) are all too familiar for any of us who've read fantasy. I don't think it's fantasy, i believe they exist. An ethereal existence visible only to the intangible senses. Trees are my nameless friends; best part - they can't escape me no matter what crap i share with 'em. Hehe!
"If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen." So resounded Henry David Thoreau. Aye, couldn't get closer to truth.
There are two hindi film songs which never fail to get back that skip in my step, never fail to resurrect my mood. One of which i share here with you tonight.. "Kholo kholo" from the movie Taare zameen par. Open up! :D
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